


In Focus

by keograti



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Abusive John Winchester, Alcoholism, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Boss Man Crowley, F/M, Famous, Famous Dean Winchester, Journalist Castiel, M/M, Mental Illness, Photographer Castiel, Recovering Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Reporter, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-01 13:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10922874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keograti/pseuds/keograti
Summary: Castiel Milton is a twenty seven year old photographer, new to New York, trying his best to make his way in life without complications. After a chance meeting with Dean Winchester, heir to a billion dollar company and the son of one of Hollywood's most prominent actors, Castiel is assigned to infiltrate the Winchester empire and bring the skeletons in the closet to light. It's an easy enough job for a skilled reporter-- but one Castiel was never prepared to take.





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel is sorely underdressed.

It’s the first time he’s ever been to a gala, and he had settled for a pair of slacks and a nice button-up shirt. He realizes the second he wanders in through the side-door, press badge clipped hastily to his belt, that he stands out like a sore thumb among the regal crowd before him. There are women in dresses that cost more than Castiel’s rent for the year, and men clad in elegant three-piece suits. They float past him like ghosts, bringing with them the smell of expensive champagne and floral perfumes. He does his best to stay out of the way, tucked carefully between two pillars with his camera. 

He should never have taken this assignment, he thinks as he peers through the viewfinder and adjusts his exposure. He hates celebrity news, thinks that it simply isn’t worth the run-time it’s given. He prefers hard news stories, the kinds that bring billion-dollar scandals or war-crimes to light. As much as this celebrity crap goes directly against his moral priorities, though, moving to New York had not been cheap, and he would take whatever assignment he could get his hands on if it helped pay his bills.

He snaps a few photos of a couple walking in the door. He recognizes them from some E! News story that had been muted on the television this morning while he puttered around his kitchen making his morning tea. He can’t remember their names, but he’s careful to center them in the shot and highlight the way the woman’s diamond earrings caught the light of the room. 

“Castiel,” There’s a sudden voice in his ear and he jumps, turning to find Charlie leaning against one of the pillars he had carefully poised himself between. The redhead is grinning at him. She looks exquisite in a shimmering green dress that exposes a bit more cleavage than Castiel is comfortable with seeing on his best friend. “What are you doing hiding over here?”

“The rest of the press is in the front of the ballroom,” Castiel shrugs. “I figured I could get some unique shots from here, instead of the generic stuff you’ll see on the cover of People tomorrow,”

“They should really pay you more, you know?” Charlie snorts as she fiddles with the recorder in her hand. Charlie was fixated on good old fashion news reporting. When Castiel was intoduced to her during a meeting a little over six months ago, they had quickly become friends and had been teamed up not too long after.

“A raise would be nice,” Castiel says, just as the doors open and the volume of screaming coming from outside suddenly rises. It’s as clear a sign as any that someone worthwhile is coming in, and Castiel raises his camera once more just as a small group of newcomers saunter through the open double doors of the building.

He’s never seen the group before in his life, but they seem to be a crowd favorite so he takes as many photographs as he can as they pass. The first man he captures is unreasonably tall, and Castiel has to lift the camera to even get his face in frame. His dark hair is a tad bit long for Castiel’s taste but is smoothed neatly away from his face to reveal a sharp nose and wide hazel eyes. He is smiling, albeit uncomfortably, as he bends to say something to a much shorter woman at his side. She looks older - maybe his mother? - and her fair hair is pinned in a delicate bun atop her head. Leading the group is a mid-sized man with salt and pepper hair, his smile easy and comfortable as he waves at other stars ahead of him. Castiel thinks he must be the source of the screaming crowds, and the other two are simply accompaniments.

They pass quickly and Castiel turns his camera towards the door once more.

Time passes like this for awhile, until it is announced the reception will begin in five minutes and the press is ushered carefully inside. Charlie sticks close to Castiel’s side, and he’s grateful for her presence. Crowds have always made him a bit uneasy.

The gala passes rather quickly, just a blur of photography and following Charlie around as she sucks up to the rich and famous and records their conversations. It’s nearing midnight, and Charlie is interviewing some blonde model whom Castiel has never seen before in his life when he finally decides it's time for a break. He motions to Charlie that he’ll return briefly and she nods without breaking the interview. He takes his chance and heads for the complimentary bar; most of the stars have left, headed to some after party which Castiel is - thankfully - not responsible to attend, so there's no line. 

He orders a Coke, making small talk with the bartender, and leaves a tip as thanks when he receives his drink. He takes a small sip, sighing, wishing it was something stronger but knowing it’s better that it isn’t. He slings his camera carefully around to his back after a few minutes of idly watching the dwindling crowd, turning to go find Charlie-- 

And steps directly into a broad chest, successfully spilling Coke all over his nicest shirt as well as what appears to be a suit that costs more than his car would if he had one. He stands frozen and mortified for a short moment, cursing under his breath, but glad he had thought to rest his camera against his back.

“I am s-so sorry,” He manages to find his voice, turning and gathering as many napkins as he can from the bar. The barkeeper has the decency to look embarrassed for him and sets a glass of club soda silently on the counter. Castiel turns back to the stranger, inhaling shakily, waiting to be chewed out by some rich prick as he stares at his shoes and holds the napkins out.

“No worries,” He’s surprised by the genuine lack of concern in the man’s voice and he finally manages to look up just as the stranger looks down at his suit. “At least it’s not wine, right?”

“I-I suppose,” Castiel stutters as the stranger thanks the bartender and dips a napkin in the club soda, dabbing at the Coke stain on his front. He glances up at Castiel, and the reporter does his best not to blush. 

He isn’t the most gorgeous man Castiel has ever seen, not at all, but there is something ruggedly handsome about the man. The dim lighting in the room makes him look faintly pale and his hair is styled messily atop his head. His face is all sharp angles, and Castiel thinks someone might cut themselves on those cheekbones if they weren’t careful. His eyes look green, but Castiel can’t really tell in this darkened corner of the venue.

“I don’t like this suit, so you really did me a favor….” The man squints and it takes Castiel a moment to realize he’s trying to read his press badge.

“Castiel,” He says and the man arches a brow.

“Odd name,” He says and Castiel shrugs.

“My mother's choice, not mine,” 

“Fair enough,” The man laughs, setting the napkins aside, seemingly content with his clean up job. “I’m Dean, by the way,”

“Hello, Dean,” He greets, unsure what else to say. Dean snorts, and Castiel watches his nose crinkle with the sound.

“Hey, Castiel,” He copies. “So, you a photographer?” He motions to the camera and Castiel nods, swinging the device back around to his front, carefully holding it away from his own damp shirt. He wouldn’t bother cleaning the Coke off of it; if the washing machine didn’t take care of it later tonight, he’d simply donate it to the homeless shelter down the street.

“Any good?” Dean asks, and Castiel is a little confused as to why this man, who is obviously an A-lister or accompanying one, is bothering to conversate with him. He clears his throat, trying not to overthink the conversation as he pulls the camera strap off his neck and holds the device out towards Dean. 

“You can look, if you’d like,” He offers, but Dean shakes his head.

“Nah, don’t want to ruin tomorrow's front cover for myself, do I?”

“I’m hardly a front-cover photographer,” Castiel slings the camera across his back once more and Dean chuckles.

“Are you ever in any of your photos?” Dean wonders and Castiel shakes his head; that was against policy. “You want to be?”

“I… Beg your pardon?” Castiel blinks.

“Take a photo with me,” Dean shrugs.

“I…” Castiel isn’t sure how to politely decline but Dean is insistent, shaking his head.

“Here, give me your phone,” He demands and Castiel, dumbstruck, complies. Dean fiddles around with the device for a second before suddenly stepping in close to Castiel. The man tenses, holding his breath. Dean leans in close, his face less than an inch away from Castiel’s as he turns the front-facing camera on them and gives a thumbs up and a stupidly large smile before snapping a photo. He then hands the device back to Castiel.

“It’s important to get photos of yourself, too,” Dean says as Castiel pockets his phone. “My little brother likes to be behind the camera, so we don’t have a lot of photos of him, ya know? It means a lot to your family to see your face sometimes,”

Castiel doesn’t bother to tell Dean that his family doesn’t care about his face. 

“Dean!” Castiel watches as a tall, pregnant blonde woman waves at Dean from across the room, motioning him to come over. Dean sighs, shaking his head, and turns to Castiel with a smile.

“It was nice meeting you, Castiel, but I’m afraid duty calls,”

“Yes, uh… You, too,” Castiel nods and Dean, to Castiel’s utter shock, winks.

“See you around,” He says before striding away, meeting the blonde near the door and throwing a careless arm around her shoulders. He doesn’t look back.

Castiel is still staring after him, dumbfounded when Charlie finds him.

“I thought you were coming back over when you got done-- Oh, you’ve got Coke all over you!” Charlie exclaims, but Castiel hardly hears her. He touches his phone in his pocket, frowning, and wonders what the hell just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

Work comes way too damn early, as it does every morning. Castiel hadn’t gotten home until three a.m. that morning, and he barely manages to stumble into the office at eight. He’s cradling a mug of highly-caffeinated tea and he’s pretty sure his shoes are on the wrong feet as he drops down at his desk and sighs heavily. There’s a stack of recently approved proofs laying on the edge of his desk, and a framed photo of he and Charlie sitting next to his monitor which he stares at for a long moment.

“Reminiscing?” Charlie perches on the edge of his desk, pushing the proofs out of her way. 

“How are you so awake?” Castiel demands, taking a long sip of the bitter tea and setting the mug aside as he turns his desktop on and reaches into his camera bag to retrieve last night’s SD card.

“If you cut me open, I promise I bleed energy drinks,” Charlie snickers as she toys with the leaves on a small potted plant near Castiel’s lamp. He’s honestly surprised he’s managed to keep the poor thing alive as long as he has.

“I’d believe it,” Castiel mumbles as he pops the SD card in the reader and waits for the images to load. He retrieves his phone from his bag and sets it on the desk beside him, although he doubts he’ll receive any texts; the only person he regularly talks to is currently sat beside him.

“Did you have fun last night, at least?” Charlie pesters. “I mean, there were some pretty great people there-- I got a supermodel's number,” 

“Nothing worth mentioning,” Castiel says. After careful deliberation, he had decided not to tell Charlie about his interaction with the strange man, Dean. His friend would only pester him half to death for details, and Castiel honestly didn’t have many to give her. He didn’t even get a last name.

“It wouldn’t kill you to flirt a little,” Charlie sighs dramatically as she retrieves his phone. He thinks nothing of it; there’s really no boundaries in their friendship, no matter how many times he’s tried to instate them. “You might get some really cool photos if you did,”

“I like my candids just fine, thank you,” Castiel mutters as he flips through the photos on his computer and sorts the ones that are useable into a separate file.

“Let me redact and reissue my statement,” Charlie says, doing something on his phone that he can’t see. Most likely playing one of the countless games she had downloaded for herself. “You might get laid if you flirted-- then you could sell the nudes online, and with a body like yours you’d be rich,”

“Charlie,” He tries to shake his head in shame, but he chuckles despite himself.

They sit in companionable silence for a long moment, Charlie content with his phone and Castiel working, until Charlie suddenly exclaims “ _Castiel Andrew Milton!_ ”

“What?” Castiel jumps, turning to face Charlie. He doesn’t bother telling her that his middle name is not Andrew-- she makes a new one up every time she calls out his name. She is staring at his phone screen in clear shock, and Castiel panics for a moment, wondering if he had left something inappropriate pulled up-- no, that wasn’t like him. He knew Charlie used his phone, and he was careful for that very reason. “Charlie, what is it?”

“You know Dean Winchester?” She demands, turning his phone to face him. He blinks at the screen, realizing it’s the picture from the gala last night; he had forgotten about it. Dean looked just as ruggedly handsome as he remembered, grinning at the camera with a thumbs up barely in frame. Castiel simply looked surprised, wide-eyed and pale, half of his body cut out of the photo due to the awkward angle of the photo.

“I… Met him last night?” Castiel tries and Charlie reaches out, smacking him lightly in the back of the head.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Charlie demands.

“I… I don’t know who he is, Charlie, I-I spilled my drink on him and we talked for a few minutes. It wasn’t anything exciting,” He shrugs and Charlie shakes her head, waving a finger in his face.

“No, no, no,” She hisses. “Castiel, this is Dean friggin Winchester!”

“Just because you say it again does not mean I am any more informed,” Castiel points out and Charlie curses, shoving his desk chair suddenly to the side and closing his work. Before Castiel can complain, she has google open and has typed Dean’s name into the browser.

The search gets over two hundred thousand results, a Wikipedia blurb appearing at the top right of the page.

“He’s a mega A-List kid, Castiel,” Charlie says, pointing to the Wikipedia box. “Not to mention, he’s set to inherit his mother’s company, which is worth, like…. Billions of trillions of dollars,”

“Okay?” Castiel struggles to keep up as Charlie scrolls through the search results.

“And he’s basically been a recluse since he was like…Twenty. He had some trouble with the police and had to go to rehab or something, and there’s only been like…. Seven or eight photos taken of him since then. He’s really hard to track down,"

“I don’t see how… He was hardly hiding last night,” Castiel says and Charlie simply watches him with the same shocked expression. “He was quite friendly, actually.”

“Oh my God,” Charlie squealed. “You have to show this to Crowley,”

“Charlie, this really isn’t--"

“Castiel, his photos sell for like…. Buckets of money,” Charlie informs and he hesitates, biting his lip. He could use some more groceries, and it would be nice not to worry about rent this month...

“It’s not like I can get a hold of him,” Castiel sighs. “Not to mention, a cheap selfie isn’t going to sell well-- if at all.”

“Trust me, just… Show Crowley.”

And that’s how Castiel wound up sitting in front of Fergus Crowley two hours later, the Editor in Chief peering down at the grainy photo on his phone with a scowl. He studies it for a long, nerve-wracking moment before sliding Castiel’s phone back across the desk and crossing his arms.

“He approached you?” Crowley demands.

“Well, I-I spilled my drink on him, sir, but the photo was his idea, yes,” Castiel nods and Crowley watches him for a tense moment.

“I want you to get more-- better quality."

“Sir, I hardly know how to--”

“The kid's dad is appearing at a red carpet premiere at the end of the week. I have it from a reliable source that Dean should be arriving after the movie starts to avoid the crowd,”

“Sir, I… I’m not sure h-how comfortable I am wi--”

“I'm sure we could negotiate a pay raise to compensate your moral discomfort, right Fergus?” Charlie interrupts, and Crowley glowers at her for a moment but reluctantly nods. Charlie may not have the title of Chief, but she had built the company. Her word was law.

Castiel swallows, knowing he has no choice at this point. Crowley and Charlie wanted this. Bad.

He nods, and it feels the same as if he'd effectively sold his soul.

Crowley’s assistant escorts him and Charlie out.

Charlie nearly screams with excitement.

⛤⛤⛤

Less than a week later he finds himself once again underdressed and hiding amongst a crowd of Hollywood’s most elite. The venue is different than before, and Castiel is doing his best to get used to it. It’s a cool evening in late summer and he shivers, wishing he had brought a coat. His fingers are nearly numb on the camera and he’s focused on snapping pictures of the few people still trickling into the building. The movie started nearly forty minutes ago, and he’s the last of the paparazzi left outside. Everyone else has either gone inside or left for the evening.

He swings his camera around to lay against his back and blows carefully against his fingers. He finds himself wishing he had a cigarette, if only for something to do, and he banishes the thought quickly; old habits die hard.

“Hate to break it to you, but all the good shots are gonna to be inside right now,” A voice says behind him, and Castiel feels his heart jump uneasily as he turns to find Dean Winchester standing a few feet behind him. He emerges from the shadows like a quiet ghost. He’s far less carefully dressed this time, only a pair of jeans and a low cut black shirt. He’s wearing a red checkered flannel over it, and a leather jacket on top of that. It’s warm brown and weathered with use.

“Dean,” He says, and he can’t help but smile a bit as the man comes closer.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Castiel,” He smiles, and it’s almost as if he’s greeting an old friend. His expression is casual and welcoming.

“Nor did I,” Castiel admits. Ever since he’d been given this stupid assignment, he had hoped Dean simply wouldn’t show. Not for lack of desire to see him, admittedly, but rather for a lack of desire to be involved in this low-level scheme.

“What are you doing out here?” Dean asks, coming to stand by his side.

“I was hoping to get some shots of late attendees,” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“And you didn’t bring a jacket?” Dean arches one well-shaped brow and Castiel blushes, despite himself.

“I didn’t check the weather,” Castiel admits and Dean chuckles, surprising Castiel by slipping out of his jacket and offering it. Castiel tries to decline, but Dean will not rest until the photographer has slid the heavy jacket on; it sits a bit too large on his smaller frame. It smells like motor oil, and something spicy that Castiel thinks must be Dean’s cologne. He decides he likes it.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, admittedly warmer with the extra layer.

“There is a fee for usage of my favorite jacket,” Dean admits and Castiel swallows, suddenly petrified that this overwhelmingly nice man was going to show the true colors of the socially elite. He braces himself, ready for what was to come, when Dean asks, “Let me buy you dinner?”

“W-What?” Castiel stutters, shocked by this turn of events. He had expected a much more perverted request, or even something highly illegal, not that he would be asked out on a date.

“You, me, food?” Dean tries again. “I know a pretty great little diner a few blocks away,”

“Are… Are you sure?” Castiel asks and Dean chuckles.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” Dean shrugs. “Is it okay if you leave before the end of the movie, or whatever? I don’t really know how the whole paparazzi thing works,”

“It’s okay, but please don’t call me that,” Castiel makes a face. “I’m not one of those offensive vultures.”

“Excuse me,” Dean raises his hands in a clear sign of surrender and Castiel smiles a bit as the taller man motions down the street. “Shall we?”

Dean leads them to a dark, old car parked around the corner, away from the busy main streets. The car is sleek and shiny, well taken care of, and Castiel wishes suddenly that he knew more about cars so they had something to talk about as he slides into the passenger's seat. Dean moves easily into the driver's seat and the car starts with a purring roar, rumbling quietly underneath them.

“You know anything about cars?” Dean asks as if reading his mind. He shakes his head, fiddling with his camera where it rests in his lap. “This is a 1967 Chevy Impala. Built her from the ground up,”

“It’s quite beautiful,” Castiel says, and Dean throws him a sideways glance before pulling away from the curb. 

“Her,” He corrects seriously. “Baby is a girl,’”

“I’m…. Sorry, Baby,” Castiel pats the dash gently, and it earns him a sideways grin from Dean that makes his heart palpitate. He stares out the window and they ride in silence to the diner. Dean parks in front and, much to Castiel’s surprise, even comes around to open his door for him.

Castiel leaves his camera in the passenger's seat, forgotten.

“This place has the best pie in the city,” Dean says, holding the door as Castiel walks in only a few paces ahead of him. Dean waves to the staff where they’re crowded behind the counter and they all smile at him, an older woman with gray-streaked hair coming around to direct them to a table and handing them menus. Dean sits with his back to the wall, and Castiel sits across from him, shivering in his heavy leather jacket.

“Do you come here a lot?” He wonders aloud, and Dean nods, sliding the menu to the edge of the table without looking. 

“Staff are nice,” He says, “And the food is great. Why would I bother with taking my business anywhere else, y’know?”

Castiel hums his agreement, staring at the menu without really reading it. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, and a careful bead of sweat slips carefully from the nape of his neck down his back. He’s not hot, simply nervous.

He decides on a bacon cheeseburger after a moment and places his menu carefully atop Dean’s before facing the man again. In this light, he can tell that his eyes are, in fact, green. He’s not nearly as pale as the dim gala lighting led him to believe, but, rather, golden with sun. Castiel can see the faintest hint of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Did you ever get the Coke out of your shirt?” Dean interrupts his thoughts and Castiel blinks, and it takes him a moment to recall what exactly Dean is talking about. 

“Oh, yes,” Castiel smiles minutely. “I hope I didn’t ruin your suit,”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Dean shrugs. His smile is easy and carefree, and Castiel wonders how quickly he’ll become addicted to that sight. 

The waitress returns, and Castiel opens his mouth to order when Dean suddenly interrupts him and orders two double-cheeseburgers, one with onion rings and the other with fries, and two bottles of Coca-Cola. Castiel stares at him across the table, flabbergasted, wondering if he really can read minds when Dean grins and shrugs.

“Did you know you mumble to yourself while you read?” He asks and Castiel blinks.

“I do?”

“I heard something about ‘bacon’ and ‘been a while’ and ‘fries sound really good,’” Dean chuckles and Castiel simply stares at him a moment before shaking his head, horrified.

“I am so sorry. I do that at work and sometimes it happens when I’m out, and I just don’t realize it, and--”

“Don’t apologize,” Dean shrugs. “I think it’s… Endearing,”

Castiel flushes, clearing his throat, and shifts a bit uneasily in his seat. He’s nervous because this feels like a first date and he's not sure how to proceed, but he also needs something to hand Crowley on Monday, so he finds himself asking, “So, are you….”

“Gay?” Dean finishes the unspoken question and Castiel nods. “No,”

Castiel feels his stomach drop. So much for--

“I’m bi-sexual,”

So this _is_ a date.

“What about you?”

“I’m, uh,” Castiel clears his throat. “I’m gay.”

“Good,” Dean chuckles, thanking the waitress as she sets two glass Coca-Cola bottles in front of them, as well as two cups of ice. “It would have been pretty awkward if I asked a straight guy out to dinner.”

“You could have simply told him you were being friendly,” Castiel shrugs, and Dean smirks.

“After I gave him my jacket?”

“It was chivalrous,”

“It was flirtatious,” Dean corrects, and Castiel smiles into his cup of ice as he pours himself some soda.

“Why me, though?” Castiel wonders aloud and pales after realizing the question has entered the world beyond his head. Dean seems somewhat entertained, and he shrugs.

“You spilled a drink on me, and I’m a sucker for men in distress,”

“I… Think your suit was the one in distress,” Castiel tries, and Dean laughs. It’s not a small laugh, or a pitying one; it comes from his gut, and he throws his head back, letting it echo between them for a long, wonderful moment. It makes Castiel’s stomach twist into happy knots.

“Trust me. The look on your face when you realized what had happened was more distressed than my suit could ever be,”

Castiel laughs a bit at that, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket and checking it as discreetly as he can. It was Charlie, asking if he’d seen Dean again. He frowns, deleting the message and setting his phone on the table.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean questions.

“Sorry, uh… My best friend was just wondering what I was doing,” He admits just as the waitress sets the burger and fries in front of him and he thanks any and all gods for making such a glorious sight. He gathers the burger in both hands, taking a hefty bite just as Dean says his name. He glances up just in time to hear the shutter sound coming from Dean’s phone, and the man is grinning.

“Dean!” He complains after swallowing, “God, that’s gotta be hideous, delete it,”

“No way,” Dean scoffs. “It’s a token of our first date. By the laws of dating, I have to keep it,”

“You don’t even know me-- for all you know, I could be horrible, and you’ll never want to see me again after this,” Castiel grumbles, picking at his fries as Dean chuckles and slides his phone back in his pocket.

“Something tells me that’s not true,” Dean says, watching him. His eyes bore holes into Castiel’s very soul as he chews a fry slowly. “Castiel?”

“Yes, Dean?” He doesn’t look at Dean lest he risk another incognito photograph.

“Tell me everything.”


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel Milton developed a stutter at age eight. No one is quite sure what caused it, but his mother had tried ruthlessly to eliminate it; counseling, speech therapy, even shock therapy had not worked. From the first day all the way to the present, anytime Castiel became even relatively nervous, the stutter would nearly choke the words out of him. Nearly. Speech therapy had helped him to learn to speak through the episodes, yes, but not to eliminate them as his dear mother had so hoped.

With Fergus Crowley towering over him, veins visibly pulsing through the thin skin of his neck, Castiel was finding it nearly impossible to do anything but stutter a series of unconnected syllables.

“You didn’t get a single photo?” Crowley is demanding and Castiel is tripping over his own tongue, trying desperately to say something, to say anything, when Charlie comes to his rescue. 

“Crowley, stop and think a moment-- what do you think Winchester would have thought if Castiel had started snapping a bunch of photos? Don’t you think that would have been suspicious?”

Castiel grips the arms of his desk chair.

“I suppose you’re right,” Crowley slowly stands, pulling at the ends of his tailored suit jacket, straightening the creases. “But he didn’t get an ounce of bloody useful material, either,”

“I-I told y-y… you,” Castiel manages, biting his tongue in the process. “He’s very sh-shy.”

It was a lie.

Dean Winchester was an open book. Castiel could list a number of facts about him if he was being honest. He could tell Crowley that Dean liked the color blue and that he was secretly in love with Taylor Swift-- the person, and her music. Castiel could tell Crowley that Dean’s favorite food was a double cheeseburger with onion rings and that he wasn’t very fond of big dogs. He could tell Crowley all about the time when Dean broke his arm at age fifteen.

But he wouldn’t. 

Because he had Dean’s trust, and he wasn’t a sleazy member of the paparazzi who was so hungry for a story that they’d betray someone so easily. 

He was a reporter, dammit.

“Well, how long do you think it would take you to open him up?” Crowley demands and Castiel shrugs.

“M-months,”

“You have…” Crowley glances at the desktop clock on Castiel’s computer. “Until new year. If you don’t know everything there is to know about Dean Winchester by then, you can seek employment elsewhere. Understand?”

Castiel nods.

It’s early September.

He has roughly four months to find a new job, then.

Crowley stalks away, back to his office, and Charlie leans against Castiel’s desk, leveling him with a knowing gaze.

“What?” He says, eyes on his desktop.

“You’re going to lose your job for this guy, aren’t you?” Charlie demands and Castiel sighs, shrugging.

“I don’t want to sell my soul, Charlie,” 

“You mean you don’t want to lose your fine hunk of man meat,” Charlie snickers and Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Charlie, this won’t go anywhere, I promise. He’ll get bored with me,”

“Castiel Elizabeth Milton,” Charlie forcibly moves his chair, making him face her. “You are one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met-- and, somehow, Dean caught on to you with one look. You really want to tell me this isn’t love at first sight?”

“You know I don’t believe in that, Charlie,” Castiel sighs and the redhead shakes her head, hair dancing like flames.

“Well I do. And when you two get married, you owe me twenty bucks.”

“No,”

“Take the bet or I’m right, Milton,” She snickers and Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Charlie--”

“Victory is miiinneeee,”

“Fine! Jesus, fine. Okay? Twenty bucks,”

“With an annually increasing interest rate,” Charlie beams, jumping away from Castiel’s desk before he can swat at her.

He can’t help but smile as she dances away.

 

⛤⛤⛤

The next time Castiel sees Dean Winchester, the date and time have been predetermined via an ever-active series of texts. It’s their second date, and Castiel briefly considers bringing flowers, but by the time he finally decides on a pair of dark jeans and a pale blue sweater, it’s nearly seven and he’s already pushing into the fashionably late zone.

He runs a comb through his hair one more time for good measure and tucks his phone, wallet, and keys away in his pocket after locking up his apartment and scurrying down the stairs. He opens the door to the main level and enters the lobby panting. The doorman is watching him with mild concern, but more humor as he hurries out the door--

And straight into Dean Winchester, where he is standing in the entrance.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Dean can barely withhold his laughter as Castiel stumbles backward a step, dazed. 

“Sorry, uh,” He clears his throat and Dean shakes his head. 

“I’m just glad you didn’t have a drink in your hand,” Dean chuckles and Castiel blushes a little at that, shrugging as he hovers awkwardly near to his date.

“You, uh… You said this place was within walking distance?” 

“Yeah, just a block away,” Dean says, surprising him as he offers a glove-clad hand. Castiel hesitates, but takes it; his slender fingers fit easily between Dean’s, and he doesn’t think much more of it as they begin strolling down the sidewalk at an easy pace. 

“So,” Dean says, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Castiel is shivering a bit at the early-evening breeze, but he tries not to show it. “You like your apartment?” 

“It’s a place to sleep,” Castiel shrugs. “It’s nothing worth seeing, though, I assure you. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you mentioned you had just moved to New York,” Dean says, and Castiel can’t help the way his stomach flutters at the fact that Dean had actually remembered something Castiel had mentioned in passing that night at the diner. “I know big city living can take some adjustment,”

“Oh, I’m quite used to limited space,” Castiel admits as they round a corner, narrowly avoiding colliding with a couple walking in the opposite direction. “Paying quite so much for that space is a bit new,”

“That’s why I live in Brooklyn,” Dean admits. “Cheaper, more space, and better people,”

“Hey. Not all of us in Manhattan are awful,” Castiel tries and Dean spares him a fond glance, tightening his grip on Castiel’s fingers. 

“No. No, you’re not.”

Castiel blushes.

Dean takes him to a Japanese restaurant whose name Castiel simply cannot pronounce. They share sushi and split a plate of Hibachi shrimp and white rice. It’s delicious but expensive-- Castiel offers to pay, but Dean shoots him down with a withering look. When they leave, they wander hand and hand back towards Castiel’s apartment building. Dean makes him stop in a tiny grocery mart on the way home, and points to a display of flowers; he makes Castiel pick out his favorite bouquet, and proceeds to buy it for him.

They’re only white daisies, but Castiel cradles them close as if they were made of gold. Dean walks him all the way to the elevator, where they stand quietly and wait for it to return to the main floor. 

Castiel suddenly feels like he can't breathe. It’s been so long since he made it past the first date with anyone, let alone actually liked the person he was pursuing. Most of his dates were a product of Charlie harassing him, prodding him to ‘move forward and get laid.’ He’d been on so many failed first dates since arriving in this city that he’d lost count. But with Dean, things were… Different. He was open and kind; he understood that romance was more than sex, and he hadn't even suggested sex to Castiel, which was more than he could say about everyone else he’d gone out with.

“D-Do you want to come upstairs for a drink?” Castiel blurts and Dean smiles softly.

“I, uh… I don't drink,” It’s the first time Castiel has ever noticed Dean’s characteristic confidence waver. He looks nervous, and his hand is balled into a fist where he’s had it laying on the small of Castiel’s back ever since they left the grocery store. He tightens his grip on his daisies, knowing that reaction all too well; it was one he himself had quite frequently around alcohol.

“I don’t either,” Castiel admits, and Dean visibly relaxes. “Do you like tea?”

“Got any coffee?” 

“Don’t make me regret asking you up,” Castiel makes a face and Dean chuckles, shaking his head.

“Alright. Tea it is.”

They ride the elevator up in companionable silence, Dean humming something under his breath that Castiel can’t place. When they step out of the elevator, Castiel leads them down the hall and stops outside his apartment, giving Dean the daisies to hold as he unlocks the door and steps inside, flipping the lights on.

His apartment, as he had already told Dean, wasn’t much to see. The front door opened directly into the living room, which had an open floor plan that exposed the kitchen. The only thing separating the two was an island, with a sink and two stools crowded against it. There was a door against the far wall that opened into Castiel’s bedroom, the master bath attached to that. The set of double doors on their immediate right simply hid a washer and dryer, as well as the water heater. The space was decorated in varying shades of gold, black, and gray. Several of his favorite photographs taken from his more remote assignments - were hung in black in white on the walls. 

Castiel takes the daisies back from Dean with a mumbled thanks and wanders into the kitchen, standing on his toes to retrieve a vase from one of the taller cabinets. He can’t remember the last time he received flowers or even bought some just to liven up his living space. He has to wash the dust out of the vase.

“Make yourself at home,” Castiel says as Dean closes the door. He slips off his gloves, shrugging out of his coat next and laying them both on the small table near the door.

“This…. Isn’t what I expected,” Dean says, peering at the photography on the wall as Castiel arranges the daisies in their vase and sets it on the island. He begins filling the kettle with water.

“What?” He asks.

“I don’t know, I just… Guess I saw you as a sort of… Messy-in-an-organized-way kind of guy? Didn’t expect the minimalist layout,” Dean admits as the glances around the relatively bare living room. He moves towards the TV, where it’s positioned atop a bookshelf. The top shelf houses DVDs, the bottom three harboring Castiel’s small collection of books.

“I left a lot of things behind when I moved,” Castiel admits, setting the kettle on the stove and leaving it to boil as he leans against the island, watching Dean explore. He has to admit, he likes the man’s presence in his home.

“Yeah, but, uh… Not your Henry James box-set, right?” Dean pulls the set of DVDs out and Castiel moves across the space to look at them, shrugging.

“I enjoy the occasional romantic action movie,” Castiel says, peering over his shoulder. Dean snorts, turning the movies over in his hands. 

“You believe in that grey haired bastard?” Dean demands, pointing to the cover. Castiel realizes with a start that it’s the man he had photographed a few nights ago, with - presumably - his son and wife. He can remember the confidence he exuded, and he’s annoyed that he didn’t recognize him at the time.

“He’s not gray, simply salt and peppered,” Castiel shrugs, “And… I don’t necessarily believe in it, but as a single gay man nearing middle age, I have to have something to watch when I’m lonely. I don’t particularly care for the actors, just the plot,” 

“You’re not even close to middle-aged,” Dean rolls his eyes, setting the movies down. 

“Dean, I turn twenty-eight in,” Castiel pauses a moment, “Less than two months,”

“So?” Dean doesn’t bat an eyelash. “I’ll be thirty in January,”

“No you won’t,” Castiel rolls his eyes and Dean simply watches him, waiting, until Castiel demands, “You will?”

“Yes sir. Got a problem with it?”

“No, no, I just… Am realizing how terribly I must have aged, if you look like this at thirty,” Castiel says just as the kettle begins to whistle and he turns to go attend to it. Dean follows him, finding a seat on one of the island stools.

“Trust me. You have aged like a fine wine,” Dean compliments, smiling as Castiel putters around working on two mugs of tea. “But… Honestly. Henry James is your go-to lonely movie?” 

“Yes,” Castiel rolls his eyes. “Why are you so concerned?” 

“Cas,” Castiel arches an eyebrow at the shortened version of his name. That’s a first. “Do you know who Henry James is?”

“No,” Castiel shrugs. “I photograph celebrities, but I don’t bother to learn about them,”

“Uh…” Dean scratches awkwardly at his chin. “Cas, that’s my dad.”

Castiel is frozen, his back to Dean. He slowly manages to turn away from what he’s doing, remembering vaguely what Charlie had said about Dean being an A-List kid-- he never realized he knew Dean's father or liked his work. Dean is watching him, and something about his face is guarded, less open than Castiel has seen it previously.

“Your… Dad, is…”

“Yeah, John Winchester.”

“Henry James?”

Dean stares at him, opening and closing his mouth a few times before suddenly sitting up a bit straighter. “Wait, so… You really don’t know my dad?”

“No,” 

“So you…. Had no idea who I was when you spilled your drink on me?”

“Of course not,” Castiel frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “In fact, if I had known, I would never have bothered to spill something on you. I probably would have been too afraid to speak to you. You’re way out of my league,”

Dean watches him a long moment before suddenly standing, coming around the island and crowding Castiel against the counter. Castiel inhales sharply, surprised, but he can’t do much more than that before Dean’s mouth is on his, and there’s strong, callused fingers cradling the sides of his face. He kisses with a passion and a fervor unlike anything Castiel thinks he’s ever felt, and his lips are warm and soft.

Just as soon as they come, though, they’re gone. Dean takes a step back, clearing his throat.

“Sorry, uh… Sorry. Just… I really like you, and I’m really used to being played, so--”

“D-Don’t be,” Castiel does his best to control both his heart rate and his stutter. “That was, uh…”

“Amazing?” Dean offers.

“I, uh… I was going to say nice, but a-amzing qualifies, yes,”

“I…. Could do it again?” Dean offers, slowly moving closer until Castiel’s back is digging into the counter and there’s an inappropriate lack of space between them.

“Yes, please.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Castiel arrives at the office on a rainy Monday morning, his body is the only thing that’s really in the office; his mind is miles away, floating on a new-relationship high. Routine alone allows him to make his way to his desk and flip through the pile of proofs that he’d left neglected over the weekend, and he gets halfway through them before he realizes he hasn’t actually seen a single one and he has to flip back to the beginning.

It’s all Dean’s fault.

They’ve been seeing each other a few weeks now, and with each passing day, Castiel fell more and more deeply into the familiar routine of life with a partner. Even though it was only a few weeks, they were dangerously close to domestic already; Dean slept over here and there, and Castiel had become accustomed to awakening to the smell of bacon and eggs, just like he had this morning. While their sex life was currently non-existent, a fact which had for the first few weeks stung, Dean’s continued presence at his home and in his life led Castiel to believe that aspect of their relationship would come in time. 

While his relationship with Dean was thriving, his work life was only getting worse. Desperate to keep his and Dean’s relationship out of the public eye for as long as possible, Castiel has resorted to feeding Crowley inaccurate information on Dean’s whereabouts and future appearances. He thinks that if one more reporter on staff shows up minutes or hours too late to interview Dean again on Castiel’s advice, though, Crowley might just have an aneurysm. Not only is the game Castiel is playing dangerous because of Crowley, though; it’s dangerous because of Dean.

If news were to get to Dean about Crowley’s plan, or if he somehow discovered it on his own, there was no way he would ever forgive Castiel. Even though they had only been together a little over a month, it was clear that the man had trust issues, although the reasons why were unbeknownst to Castiel. Whatever happened, though, the reporter never wanted to give Dean a reason not to trust him, which meant that finding a new job and leaving Crowley’s scheme behind was currently of the utmost importance and at the top of his to-do list.

Castiel has to start over on the proofs again, but this time he picks up a marker and makes himself focus instead of getting lost in his thoughts once more. While he was here, he should at least do a decent job.

He’s only just managed to quiet his mind when Charlie scampers over, blue eyes wide.

“Castiel,” She glances around worriedly. “You might want to work from home or something today,”

“Why?” He knows he may not be in the most productive headspace right now, but he can work; in fact, working is all he really wants to do while he still could.

“Crowley is on the warpath,” Charlie tries to explain but her warning comes too late as Crowley’s office door slams open and the Editor stalks towards Castiel’s desk at a brisk pace. The veins in his neck are pressing towards the surface, skin splotchy and red, and Castiel’s thoughts come crashing down from whatever Dean-fueled cloud they’ve been riding on for the past several weeks because he knows that expression all too well on Crowley’s face; rage.

“Milton,” His name sounds like a curse from Crowley’s angry throat and Charlie ducks out of the way as Crowley barrels towards them. Against his better judgment, Castiel turns in his chair to face the oncoming man. Crowley only stops inches from him, waving a magazine so closely in his face that Castiel can’t even read the title.

“Would you care to explain why you’re on the bloody cover of People Magazine this morning?” He demands and the photographer isn’t sure what to say, looking to Charlie for an explanation. She’s staring at her shoes, but before Castiel can ask if she’s alright, or even for clarification on what the hell is going on, Crowley drops the magazine in his lap and Castiel finally gets a good look at what he’s talking about.

Pictured is the back of Dean’s head, his outstretched arm propped against a small table and his hand clearly resting over his date’s across the table. The date, of course, is Castiel himself. It’s a terrible shot really, his face partially obscured by the glare in the glass window and so heavily pixelated that he’s almost unrecognizable— but anyone who had spent time with him would most likely be able to identify him. His stomach is sinking, and for a moment he thinks he might be sick.

He sets the magazine on his desk without saying anything, instead gripping the arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles turn white. Crowley watches him expectantly, and after a moment Castiel does his best to answer.

“I…” He can’t think of anything to say. As far as Crowley knows, Dean was nothing more than a friend whom Castiel was trying his damnedest to get close to. More importantly, as far as the world knew Dean Winchester was a suave but shy ladies-man and Castiel wasn’t sure he wanted that image to change. 

“Well.” Crowley pushes, jamming a finger in Castiel’s face on the cover. His tone is barely tempered, and the already visible veins in his neck are starting to jump irregularly. 

“We… Had dinner,” Castiel picks his words carefully, aware of the fragility of this situation. “Saturday night. He c-came back over to my place and we had a drink and then he left.”

“Are you telling me that you’re dating Dean Winchester?” Crowley’s voice is a low hiss.

Castiel doesn’t meet the editor’s eyes when he replies, “I don’t need to answer that.”

“Maybe we need to put someone else on this assignment, clearly there’s some kind of conflict of interest on Castiel’s behalf—“ Charlie tries to step in, but Crowley simply throws up a hand in a clear motion to silence her. An uncomfortable quiet falls over the office, whatever staff that wasn’t already prying now focused entirely on the scene unfolding at Castiel’s desk. Castiel can feel their eyes on him like pins pressing into his skin.

“You’re beginning to try my patience, Milton,” Crowley snatched the magazine from its place on Castiel’s desk and uses it to wave around for emphasis as he speaks. “We are a very small, weekly publication, which makes it very hard for us to deliver news the rest of the world hasn’t yet become privy to. I need this story, and I need you to buck up and do your damn job!”

“Charlie’s right, I don’t think I should be the one to--” He tries, and Crowley slams a palm down flat against the surface of his desk. Castiel digs his nails into his palms, trying to breathe normally. He’s never been one for violence or even violent actions for that matter.

“You are the perfect person for this job,” His voice has lowered and he leans in close so the listening staff won’t be able to hear him, and Castiel thinks that maybe the yelling was less terrifying. “You are going to give me something on Winchester by the end of the month, Milton, you understand me? Because if you don’t, not only will I tell Dean Winchester I assigned you to him but I will make sure you never work in this business ever again.”

Crowley straightens up, throwing the magazine down on Castiel’s desk as he does so. “Do I make myself clear?”

Castiel nods despite the sick feeling in his gut, staring at Crowley’s back as he turns away and stalks back into his office. The door slams behind him and Castiel is left with the weight of the entire offices gaze upon his shoulders. He looks to his friend, but Charlie is silent where she’s perched herself on the edge of his desk.

When Castiel finally turns to face his desk once more, everyone around him seems to slowly begin working again.

“What am I supposed to do?” Castiel hisses, but Charlie won’t look at him. She’s playing with the leaves of his wilted desk plant, and so he tries again, “Charlie?”

“He’s right, you know?” She says after a long pause, finally looking up. “Our ratings are going downhill, advertisers are pulling out because they’re worried they’re not getting a return on their investment, so print cost is higher than ever…”

“Charlie…” Castiel isn’t sure what to say. This publication was Charlie’s dream, Castiel knew that she had helped Crowley build it from the ground up, but rarely did she ever take Crowley’s side on matters. 

“Is there anything you can do that won’t hurt him?” Charlie says and Castiel blinks, taken aback that she would even ask. Asking Castiel, or anyone for that matter, to put his personal life in jeopardy was unlike her. “Anything you can tell us, hell anything you could just ask him.”

“I don’t…” Castiel hesitates, unsure of how to best approach the situation. “Charlie, I know this company means a lot to you--”

“Everything,” Charlie corrects. “It means everything to me. I have dedicated my life to this place, even lost my marriage over it,”

“So you want me to risk my relationship, too?” The words sound more bitter than they’re meant to, but Castiel doesn’t take them back.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Charlie’s hackles are raised now. “All I’m asking is for you to get some nugget of information about Dean or his family that might keep us from sinking any further than we already have,”

“I don’t think there’s anything I could say about him or his family that wouldn’t hurt him. Even if it wasn’t my name listed in the credits, I’m a part of the publication and I would look guilty by association,” Castiel tries and Charlie puckers her lips. “He hardly trusts anyone, Charlie, I can’t betray that,”

“Okay,” She says slowly. “What about paid vacation. I can convince Crowley to take your name off the credits while you’re working this and you can tell Dean you got fired,”

“Charlie, I can’t just-just lie to him,” Castiel hisses, shocked these words are even coming from his best friends mouth. If Charlie was anything, it was a good journalist— and what she was suggesting was as far from ethical as one could get.

“It wouldn’t technically be lying since you wouldn’t be working for us aside from dating him,”

“And where would I tell him I’m getting the money to pay my rent?” 

“Unemployment,” Charlie shrugs.

“Charlie, I’m not comfortable with that.” It takes a moment, but he manages to find his voice. “I won’t do it.”

“Just get me something, Castiel,” Charlie is begging him, using her widest puppy dog eyes. “An inside exclusive on your relationship, an embezzlement scam, something,”

“I don’t want to be thrown into the limelight like that,” He complains, shaking his head. “I’m not sure Dean does, either. For God’s sake, I don’t think anyone ever even entertained the thought he was bi-sexual until this morning,”

“Castiel,” Charlie looks near to tears and Castiel shakes his head, continuing.

“Not to mention, he hardly even mentions his family so I don’t understand how you can expect me to infiltrate their empire. This isn’t Showtime or HBO or something, Charlie, this is my life,”

“Castiel, I need this— we need this,” Charlie sounds for a second just like Crowley, and it makes Castiel so sick he feels like retching.

“No, Charlie.” His voice is soft but it’s final, and Charlie seems to sense as much as her demeanor changes from pleading to vengeful.

“You’re picking a man you’ve known for two months over me? Over your career?” Charlie snaps, and Castiel tries to remind himself that she’s only doing this because she’s upset. He doesn’t say anything, unsure of doing so will make the situation worse. He simply watches as she takes a step back, hands curled into fists at her sides as she awaits his response. When he still doesn’t say anything, she shakes her head.

“I’ll cover your ass for a week,” She snaps. “If you don’t find a new job by then, I’ll let Crowley be the one to throw you out.”

⛤⛤⛤

There’s a fine misting of October rain sticking to Castiel’s hair and clothes as he waits outside of an upscale pizzeria in downtown Manhattan. The cold seems to have seeped into his very bones and he leans heavily against the railing of the steps leading up to the restaurant, once more checking his phone for unread texts and wiping the moisture off its face before returning it to his pocket when he finds none. Despite himself, he’s scanning the nearby surroundings for photographers, eyes tracing the usually spots where he himself might be tucked away for an assignment. Ever since he’s seen the photo of himself on People this morning, he’s been paranoid that someone might know his identity, or worse, be following him.

There’s a muted ding from within his pocket, and he retrieves the device once more before sighing; just an email. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but all he knows is that he hates the silence; he’s been trying to get Charlie to answer him for hours and each unanswered message is more painful than the next. He wound up leaving the office early with a claim of sickness while in reality, he had been sitting in his apartment all afternoon searching for jobs in the area. While he in no way felt bad about denying Charlie and Crowley the right to interfere in his personal life, he did feel bad that Charlie was upset with him. The redhead was his only real friend in the city and he’d be remiss if he didn’t even try to fix things with her. 

He slides his phone back into his pocket, acutely aware that although the Charlie matter was important, there was a different problem that was a bit more pressing; Dean. Castiel, after much deliberation, had decided to text his partner earlier in the day saying that they needed to talk, and Dean asked to meet at the very pizzeria he was patiently loitering before for dinner. Dean, of course, had agreed, but nonetheless, Castiel stood with sweating palms and an uneasy stomach because he knew that this night might not turn out in his favor.

He was going to tell Dean about the scheme, about Castiel’s ‘assignment.’ Not just because he wanted Dean to know, no, but because he was almost positive that Dean would hear it from someone else after Castiel handed in his resignation tomorrow morning.

Almost as if summoned by the volume of Castiel’s thoughts, Dean rounds a nearby corner and smiles when he sees Castiel, albite nervously. Castiel thinks his ‘we need to talk’ text message probably wasn’t the most settling phrase Dean could have heard today, so he makes it a point to smile and motion him over with a wave. Dean seems to relax a bit and issues a low, “Hey Cas,” as he approaches.

Castiel smiles when Dean kisses him, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him they should probably stop doing that in public now that the cat is seemingly out of the bag.

“Hungry?” Dean asks as he leans away, his hand hovering against Castiel’s back as he leads them up the stairs and into the restaurant. The hostess eyes them expectantly and Castiel offers up, “Milton. We should have a reservation for two,” 

She scans her sheets a moment before nodding and asking them to follow her. They’re led to a small booth table in the back corner of the restaurant. Castiel slides in with his back to the window, and much to his surprise Dean slides onto the bench beside him. The hostess doesn’t seem to think too much of it, instead passing them their menus and telling them their waiters name before wandering away. When Castiel eyes Dean questioningly, the older man shrugs.

“Didn’t happen to see the cover of People today, did you?” Dean asks and Castiel nods somberly.

“It’s part of the reason I wanted to talk,” He admits and Dean nods, laying an arm along the back of the bench behind them. Castiel leans his head back and Dean adjusts his arm and touches Castiel’s hair, smiling softly at him. The dim restaurant lighting turns his eyes the color of moss.

“I find it’s harder for photographers to get verifiable shots if we both have our backs to the window,” Dean explains and Castiel nods. The logic makes sense. 

“Should we… discuss what was on the cover of People today?” Castiel wonders after a second of pretending to look over the menu. Dean clears his throat, nodding, and sits up a bit straighter.

“We will,” Dean nods, and Castiel notices that he’s no longer looking at him. He’s instead watching something else in the restaurant and Castiel frowns a bit, trying to see what he’s looking at but to no avail. “I promise we will, but before that-- I’m actually friends with the chef here, so I’m going to go run and say hello, if that’s alright?”

“Uh,” Castiel is a bit caught off guard, but he nods nonetheless. “Yeah, sure,” 

Dean slides out of the booth, bending over to press a chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips. He promises to return quickly and heads away down a hallway, presumably towards the kitchen. He’s not gone long when the waiter arrives looking for drink orders, and Castiel does his best to guess what Dean might want. 

After a few minutes, Castiel realizes he needs to use the restroom and Dean still hasn’t returned. Without any other choice, Castiel slides out of the booth, leaving his coat in his place just so the waiter understands they haven’t run out on him. He discovers that the restroom is down the hallway where Dean had vanished earlier and he glances in the kitchen door on his way to the restroom in hopes of spotting him, but there’s nothing to see aside from a busy kitchen. He sighs but makes haste in the bathroom assuming Dean may have already returned to the table. 

On the way out, he checks his phone once again but there’s still no messages from Charlie.

He glances in the kitchen once more on his way back and stops at the sight of Dean and the chef poised near a stove. The chef is too close to Dean, his body language hostile, and Dean’s jaw is clenched so tightly Castiel can basically hear his teeth grinding from here. He watches as the chef shoves a finger into Dean’s chest violently a few times, saying something Castiel can’t hear over the bustle of the kitchen and the restaurant, and Dean nods slowly before reaching in his coat pocket and holding out a wrapped package to the chef, who in return passes a significant bundle of bills to Dean before shoving the package in his apron. 

They’re hostile body language is slowly bleeding away, and Castiel is still watching when a waiter suddenly steps in way of the door, cutting off his view, and he quickly lowers his gaze and heads back to the table before he can be spotted.

His heart is racing as he slides back into the booth, staring down at his menu but hardly noticing the words as he goes back over what he just witnessed in his head.

When Dean slides back into the booth a moment later, it startles Castiel so thoroughly that he almost yelps. Dean notices almost immediately, and he places a warm hand on Castiel’s leg underneath the table.

“You okay?” He asks, and Castiel does his best to nod.

“I was j-just focused,” He lies, motioning to the menu, and Dean hardly seems to buy it but he nods nonetheless. 

“So,” He says, squeezing Castiel’s leg, “About People… I’m sorry,”

“What?” Castiel’s head is still reeling.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t more careful,” Dean explains. “I should have known better than to sit us close to a window, and it’s not fair that you’re being thrown into the press like this.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Castiel does his best to be present in this moment, to actively listen and respond to Dean even though he’s still thinking over what the hell he just witnessed in the kitchen. 

“Well, what are you worried about, then?”

“Your reputation,” Castiel replies, “I mean, I’m not sure how… Public, your sexuality is and I don’t know how comfortable you are with being outed,”

“Honestly? I could care less what those vultures think of me, or my sexuality. I’m just worried about your privacy-- our privacy. I’ve dealt with this my whole life, but you’re more acclimated to being behind the camera,”

“Yes,” Castiel can’t think of anything else to say, but lucky for him Dean continues.

“Having a relationship in the public eye is no easy feat, either. People will scrutinize everything we do, and… I just want to make sure you’re aware of what you’re walking into so you can have a chance to say no,”

“No?” Castiel echoes.

“To this,” Dean motions between them. “To me… If it’s too much for you, I get it, and I won’t be upset if you decided to call it quits.”

That shakes Castiel from his stupor, throwing him back into the real world with a vengeance. Dean is offering to break up for the sake of making Castiel’s life easier, and as conflicted and confused as Castiel is by whatever it is he just accidentally witnessed in the kitchen, he realizes that that is not at all what he wants. He wants Dean.

“No,” Castiel shakes his head, taking Dean carefully by the chin and forcing the older man to look at him. “No.” He says again, more firmly.

“No?” Dean parrots.

“I’m not going to give up on you,” He says. “On _us_. I happen to think that whatever we have going on is… Nice.”

“Yeah?” Dean grins, and he’s watching Castiel under his lashes in that way that makes his stomach flip uneasily. 

“Yeah,” Castiel smiles back, and when Dean kisses him it gives him butterflies. When Dean leans away he combs a hand through Castiel’s hair, musing it beyond repair. Castiel doesn’t mind.

“So… Is that it?”

“Hmm?” Castiel arches a brow.

“Your text. Is the People thing what you wanted to talk about?”

Castiel thinks about the exchange he witnessed in the kitchen, about the tense body language and the concealed packed. The roll of bills Dean had tucked away on his person. He forces a smile, nodding.

“Yeah, yeah. That was all.”


End file.
